


a cup of warmth

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Coffee, Community: trope_bingo, Flirting, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Tea, Tropes, Wooing, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	a cup of warmth

title: a cup of warmth  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 3015  
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Emma Frost, Sean Cassidy, Moira MacTaggert  
rating: PG  
notes: Written for [](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**trope_bingo**](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Prompt: AU: Coffee Shop. My card is [here](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/215352.html).

  
“Erik Lehnsherr!”

He blinks, and the noise of the coffee shop comes back in as though folded and spindled and mutilated and then run through a white-noise filter, and it’s only when he’s done with processing all of it that he becomes aware of Emma. Emma Frost, who is standing right in front of him, and who has probably been there for at least a minute if her catlike smile is any indication.

That smile is something rare, only visible when she’s among friends, and for one very simple and very good reason. Emma only smiles like that when trouble is brewing and she’s either the one to overturn the pot - or, more likely - the one who put the pot there in the first place.

People who see that catlike smile of hers who aren’t among her cronies often have an irrepressible urge to run for the hills, and Erik has lost count of the number of times they’ve made a batch of popcorn and watched Emma do it to some unlucky fool who crosses her path.

He is aware, too, that today he might be that fool, and that there is an odd itch in the soles of his feet.

He keeps standing there instead, rooted to the spot in the center of his coffee shop, and he attempts to at least return sarcasm for sarcasm, but with Emma like this the words all shrivel up in his head: “What,” is all that comes out, and he reaches for the lighter in his pocket.

Suddenly he craves a smoke very badly.

That smoking will get him temporarily out of the shop, temporarily out of Emma’s sight, is just a bonus, and is not the thing he’s actually looking for; he can’t be away from here for very long. He likes this place too much, like the chessboard tiles underfoot and the mismatched tables and chairs.

(The doors and window of the coffee shop say _Edie’s_ , and Erik really doesn’t care if people make fun of him for naming the place after his mother because she loves it.)

Just as he’s about to make up his mind to turn away, Emma blinks, and the smile turns into something more unabashed. Something more _real_. “Subtle you most definitely are not, Erik,” she says, and then she covers up her laugh with one coffee-stained but still well-manicured hand. “After what you did today, I’m pretty sure the whole world knows that you want to hit that like the fist of an angry god.”

“She’s kind of right,” Moira says as she starts to empty out the display of pastries. There isn’t much left: one or two stray cinnamon rolls, half a gingerbread cookie, one last rum-butter cupcake. “Emma’s right, you’re not being subtle at all, and I’m speaking as one of the people who’s in the betting pool over Stark and that blonde from the bookshop around the corner.”

“If we had a betting pool over you, someone in here’s going to get very rich real quickly like,” Sean adds from where he’s mopping near the front door. The OPEN/CLOSED sign is still fluttering on the glass window. “Okay, maybe not,” he amends after a moment. “Stark’s still going to be richer than any three of us thrown together. But you know what, Erik? At least you now have him beat at something. You’ve got him beat at the making-eyes-at-someone game, and _that_ is an accomplishment.”

Erik opens his mouth to answer him - to answer them - but nothing comes out except: “I - ”

“Don’t even start,” they all say, all at once.

Pause. _Long_ pause.

And then Erik admits defeat: he rolls his eyes, hooks a chair with his foot, and drops into it, heedless of its loud squeak of protest. “Okay, okay, so I stared at him all day and I don’t want anyone else to prep his orders but me and I want him. So I’ve wanted him since he came in here and asked me for something that we most definitely do not serve, at least not to our paying customers. Now what?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s going to expect for when they answer him, because he’s known these people for a while - in Emma’s case, they’ve practically grown up next door to each other - and they have never had any second thoughts about tormenting him for the tiniest little thing.

In this particular instance, he’s been hearing nothing but exaggerated imitations of a now-familiar and still very odd accent, one that sounds like the speaker has one foot in Oxford and the other in the Bronx. Moira comes closest on the best days - but her best is still really bad, bad enough that Erik feels compelled to throw things at her.

And these imitations have gone on long enough; Charles Xavier stumbled into Edie’s, huge dusty books balanced precariously in his arms, and asked for “something something first flush something something tea something flowers” - at least this is Sean’s _eloquent_ rendition of it - and because Erik’s first reaction had been a sort of admiring speechlessness, he has heard nothing but laughter from the other three since.

It turns out Erik might just be a real sucker for blue eyes _and_ freckles _and_ the hands of a pugilist _and_ an accent like Charles’s.

Emma’s voice cuts like sharp-edged snow through Erik’s musings. “Latte art?”

“Absolutely not,” Erik says, and he levels a glare at the trio lounging around the counter. There is a saucer with crumbs next to Moira’s elbow, and the box of leftovers is missing half its contents.

“Why not?” Sean asks. “I mean, dude, it’s not like you don’t know how to.”

“I do know how to,” Erik bites out. “I’m the only one in here who knows about that. And I’m not teaching any of you.”

“Okay, so maybe Erik has a point,” Emma says as she shrugs. “Then it will have to be our regular stock in trade.”

“Which is?” Moira asks.

“This is a coffee shop,” Emma says.

“So?”

“What is the thing that we will always have that we don’t make ourselves? Or at least we don’t come up with all of it, though we do wind up getting more of it than others?”

Erik finally gives up on being aloof and stalks over to the counter, swatting Sean’s hands out of the box so he can help himself to the last cherry Danish. “Cryptic doesn’t suit you, Emma.”

“As if ‘longing’ did you,” she snaps, and she grins when that makes the other two snort loudly.

“I give up,” Erik says.

“So do I,” Sean says. “The only thing I can think of that you might be talking about is, well, we don’t sell it, we don’t always have it, but when we get it we get a lot of it. What do people do here but _talk_?”

“Exactly: gossip,” Emma says. “If enough people start talking about Erik and Charles, Charles might notice. _Might._ I’m not entirely sure if he’d listen to that sort of thing - ”

“I think he will,” Moira says, nodding sagely. “Or am I the only one who saw him watching everyone else here? He looked like he was just happy to be surrounded by everyone chattering around him - and he gets happier the noisier it is in here.”

“Weird,” Sean says.

“That sounds a little sad,” Emma murmurs after a moment.

Erik is quiet for a while, the last bite of buttery pastry left hanging; he turns that information over in his head before saying, “How come I didn’t notice that?”

As soon as he says it out loud he knows it’s a bad idea, he’s going to get ragged on again, and he grunts impatiently and throws his leather jacket on.

He’s halfway to the door when Moira says, “You’re allowed to be distracted if you’re interested, you know.”

“But only to a certain extent,” Emma adds.

Erik sighs quietly. “I know.”

The bell over the door chimes, once, and Erik thinks it sounds lonely, as he steps out into the night.

///

A few days later, the clouds break in the middle of the day, and Erik suddenly has a shop full of bedraggled customers, most of them changing their orders from iced drinks to steaming-hot ones.

Erik fishes his mobile phone out of his pocket as soon as it starts ringing. The name on the screen is familiar and unexpected. “Is everything all right, Mama?”

“Of course.” Edie sounds a little tinny, a little distant, a little flustered. “I’ve just been caught out here without an umbrella.”

“Where’s ‘here’ exactly?” Erik asks. “If you’re not too far away from the shop, I’ll come and get you.”

“I’m halfway across town, darling - I’ll take a cab. I just wanted to let you know where I was.”

Erik winces enough that the girls at the counter, waiting for their orders, throw worried glances in his direction. “But you’re not exactly a fan of cabs.”

“If needs must,” Edie sighs. “I’ll be fine, Erik.”

“Mama - oh, all right. But tell the cab to come here. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Edie says.

“You’d better,” Erik growls, letting a little affection seep past the worry in his voice.

After he passes a pair of soy milk lattes over the counter he goes back to checking his phone every few breaths or so - and finally, the message alert goes off.

Edie’s text is short and to the point: _Just around the corner._

“Moira,” Erik calls, and he taps his toes impatiently until she sticks her head out of the kitchen. There is a smudge of flour on her chin. “Can you take over for me?”

“Do I look like I should be out in public?”

“Not really, but Edie’s almost here.”

He watches her roll her eyes. “Just this once.”

Erik more or less runs across the shop and out the door - and then he yanks the door open and his mind skids to an abrupt halt as he tries to process what he’s looking at.

Edie is laden down with shopping bags, and the rain is pouring down but she’s smiling and she’s dry, and she’s standing beneath a large black umbrella.

“Thank you,” Charles Xavier says to the driver, and his sunny smile isn’t diminished by the other man’s surly brush-off. “Inside, then?”

“Yes, please,” Edie says - and then she starts when she spots Erik. “Darling! What are you doing out here?”

“I was going to help you,” Erik says, blinking at her and at Charles.

“Oh, darling, I do appreciate that you worry about me, but you don’t have to do that all the time,” Edie says.

Erik hustles her into the coffee shop, but not without muttering “Come on” in Charles’s general direction. He leads them both straight to the the table they keep behind the counter, near the warmth of the kitchen, and once all of Edie’s bags and Charles’s books are neatly arranged he goes over to the espresso machine. “The usual, Mama?”

“Please,” Edie says. “And what are you having, Charles?”

“I - I will also have my usual, if you have it today,” he says. There are bright spots of red high up on his cheeks.

Erik fills a large mug with freshly-brewed coffee for his mother: three heaping spoonfuls of sugar, a drop of milk, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

He peers into the pot of hot chocolate, warming next to the espresso machine, and hesitates for just a moment before he pours everything left in it into a second mug. Only his skill prevents the molten-hot drink from spilling out onto his hand or the counter.

“Thank you, darling,” Edie says.

“Thank you,” Charles says. His smile trembles a little around the edges - whether from cold or from something else, Erik can’t tell.

He wants to ask, and doesn’t know how to.

“Are you all right?” Edie asks after she takes her first sip. She beams warmly at Charles, who smiles back, tentatively at first.

“I’m okay. I’m not good with being cold,” Charles says. “I feel better now, though.”

“Thank you for putting us here, darling,” Edie says.

Erik shrugs. “This is _your_ table, Mama.” To Charles, he adds, “And if you want to sit there, all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m perfectly okay with looking for a table whenever I come here - I’m not exactly a regular yet; there are days when I forget to show up - ”

“It doesn’t matter. This table is open for you whenever you can make it here.”

Edie’s smile grows larger by the moment.

Erik leans over to kiss her temple, and afterwards he smiles at Charles - and it makes him feel warm when Charles blinks and then smiles back, slow and sweet and kind.

///

“Thanks for the espressos, Erik,” Stark calls the next evening.

“Out, Tony,” Erik says, but he’s grinning as he says it, and he follows the man to the door and waves at him as he gets into that ridiculous stretch limo of his. Then Erik flips the sign to CLOSED and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the usual closing chores.

He’d normally have help for them, but Moira and Sean are up to their ears in studying for midterms and Emma has been called home to deal with a family emergency, leaving him to run the coffee shop by himself.

Nothing he hasn’t done before, really; he just wants to get it all over with so he can go home and order another pizza and fall asleep to crap TV.

He’s about to retrieve the mop from the back when there’s a quiet breath from somewhere inside the shop - he wheels around and looks in the corners, and - well.

How long has Charles been asleep, Erik wonders, when he walks over. He keeps his distance, but now he’s near enough to get a good look at the table with its piles of papers weighted down with empty plates and a large mug with tiny dried-up flakes of chocolate and cream clinging to the rim.

He’s gorgeous, and he looks snug and sheltered, and Erik really wants to lean over and kind of touch him. Charles frowns when it’s cold, walks around in coats _and_ sweaters _and_ gloves, and Erik remembers catching him blowing on his hands to keep them warm - it’s been driving Erik crazy, wondering about that need for warmth, wondering why Charles chooses to sit in out-of-the-way corners if it means he can stay out of the cold.

Erik clears his throat, a little loudly, and Charles comes awake with a soft gasp. Wide eyes ringed in shadow and shock. He looks around wildly and then he blinks and looks up. “Oh,” Charles says.

Erik swallows past the lump in his throat and tries for casual. “Hello,” he says. “Long day?”

“Long _week_ ,” Charles says, and the words are nearly smothered by the rustling as he hastily gathers up his things. “Which is something I’m not really allowed to say on a Tuesday.”

“You can say whatever you like in here. I don’t think there’s anyone to be offended.”

Charles turns a lopsided smile on him. “And that is something I should be apologizing for. I didn’t really mean to drop off.”

“I’m amazed you did. This place is not exactly known to be quiet, even though I do go around every hour or so yelling at everyone to keep it down.” Erik shrugs and smiles. “Stay as long as you like.”

“You have things to do.”

“I can do them around you.”

Charles blushes and looks away. “I really do hate to be such a bother, but, um. Food? I’ll pay for it, of course.”

Erik raises an eyebrow at him - and then he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the pastry shelves. “Help yourself.”

As he goes to get the mop and gets to work, he watches Charles out of the corner of his eye: Charles ducking behind the counter to take a sticky bun and the last two brioches out of the display, Charles carefully counting his change next to the cash register, Charles picking his way back to his corner by stepping only on the black tiles of the checkerboard floor.

“Coffee?” Erik asks as he plumps up the cushions on the couches along the other wall.

Charles covers his mouth with his hand, chews and swallows and replies. “I’d love to, but - I still have to try to sleep.”

There are crumbs on his face; Erik can’t do a damn thing about them, except tap his own cheek and then make a quick sweeping motion.

Charles grins and digs out a handkerchief, but before he can clean up he stops, takes a deep breath, and then lets out an impressive yawn. “Excuse me.”

“You really need to rest,” Erik says, grateful to get back to the counter so he can take inventory and clean up the espresso machine _and_ , hopefully, hide his silly smile away from the other man.

“I have been saying that for the past few days. Regretfully, I don’t think my papers and exams are listening to me. Perhaps if I told them to fuck off - ? No, I’ve already tried that.” Charles’s voice is suddenly louder.

Erik looks over his shoulder, really looks - and Charles doesn’t seem to mind because he squares his shoulders and meets Erik’s eyes and returns gaze for gaze.

Erik thinks of seizing the moment.

Charles beats him to it. “Could I - maybe I could ask you to go out with me some time?”

Erik nods, once. He’s speechless and he knows it. He’s suddenly, inexplicably grateful.

He holds out his hand to Charles, and smiles when Charles takes it.

Charles is warm, just as Erik had thought he would be.  



End file.
